


The Window and the Wall

by illyrilex



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Budding bromance, Character Development, Did We Just Become Best Friends?, Drinking, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Questions, Slice of Life, Totally platonic lady bro soulmates, ultimate brotp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyrilex/pseuds/illyrilex
Summary: One-shot: King and Mary get to know each other a little better.
Kudos: 4





	The Window and the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Before I say or do a single damn thing, I want to start this off with a big, massive, huge thank you to David Tai, who, once again, came in and saved my ass when I was having some issues. This story wouldn't exist in its current form without his input.
> 
> Now!
> 
> This takes place after Silver Lining, and is still in the early days of what eventually becomes an epic bromance. As you know, there are notes at the end.
> 
> Onward~!

Cécile Levasseur, who had spent many months going by the alias "King," didn't know Mary Ryan all that well, and, yet, she was sitting across from her at a small booth in the Pao Pao Café, a little drunk, and quietly crying into a nearly empty margarita.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, upset at herself for showing weakness in front of someone who might as well have been a stranger — in public, no less. "I shouldn't be unloading on you like this!"

King reached for a napkin so she could discreetly blow her nose. She still didn't quite understand _why_ her companion had, apparently, taken such a liking to her: She recently left the mob and was jobless, on probation, and living with her horrible aunt and uncle, as well as her chronically ill little brother, who couldn't walk. Mary, meanwhile, was a police officer who, despite going through some kind of traumatic event that King didn't dare ask about, was laid-back, friendly, and clearly had her shit together. Even though they had hung out on several occasions over the last few weeks, King was surprised when the officer dropped by after her shift (still in full uniform) and dragged her out for a drink at Southtown's popular hangout in the middle of the city. Of course, alcohol had a tendency to make King more open and honest than she already was, so when Mary inquired about her well-being things took a bit of a turn, and all of her sadness and frustration came spilling out in something of a stream-of-consciousness wreck.

"It's okay," Mary assured her with a quick glance around the area. "You've just hit a rough patch, that's —"  
"A ' _rough_ patch'?" King interrupted. "I'm an unemployed college dropout with a criminal record, my aunt and uncle legitimately _hate_ me and only put up with me for Jean's sake. And Jean is so upset, and disappointed in me, and…"

With that, tears began to roll down King's cheeks. She momentarily buried her face in the sleeves of her hoodie (which she hadn't bothered to take off) as she recalled the look her brother gave her when he found out about what she had done. She made a low, miserable noise before grabbing a nearby pitcher and refilling her beverage.

"Are you sure you should drink that?" Mary asked, her brow furrowed.  
"I don't even know," King whimpered before downing almost the entire contents of the newly refilled glass in several very large gulps.  
"Okay, well, maybe you should hit the pause button for a few minutes because Richie makes those things _strong_ ," Mary cautioned.  
"And here I thought this shit was pretty _weak_ ," King replied, though her coordination _was_ starting to become a little iffy.

Mary chuckled before reaching for her own drink: a milkshake that was, without a doubt, among the largest King had ever seen in her life.

"That's what he wants you to think," she stated.  
"Well, _I_ think —" King reached over and refilled her glass once more — "that I could… _probably_ … do a better job making these."  
"How so?"  
"I'unno. I just know… you know when you just _know_ something?"  
"I… uhhh… I guess…?"

Again, King downed the chilled drink in a few gulps. She then shook her head, which was becoming foggier with each passing second, and sighed.

"So, tell me," Mary suddenly said while leaning toward her.  
"...what?"  
"How were you gonna get out, anyway?"  
"Get out of what?" King asked.  
"Big's syndicate. Surely you hadn't planned on staying in it for the rest of your life." A pause. "Right?"  
"I didn't really think about it. Didn't think about _anything_ , to be honest. Just... get the money for Jean. That was all that mattered."  
"And now?"  
"It's still all that matters. 'm not going to just... _stop_ trying to get it. And especially not after last night. I don't even want to _think_ about the bill…!"

King put her head in her hands and became choked up again as she recalled Jean's latest stint in the ER much earlier that day. They had arrived at the hospital a little after two AM and didn't get to leave until just before the morning rush hour. And, of course, it had been the same as always: hours upon hours of sitting behind a curtain, waiting for lab results, and then being lectured by the condescending doctor who sometimes had the overnight shift about what to do when the flare ups became _really_ bad. Then, after filling several prescriptions, King brought Jean home, and a terrible fight with Aunt Maddy and Uncle Gary broke out before she could even crawl into bed.

"And, yet, you're thinking about it anyway," Mary pointed out.  
"Well… _now_."  
"Okay, so think about what I asked you, instead."  
"You mean the plan I didn't have?"  
"So, _you_ — the person who didn't even shave her legs for months so she could make her disguise more authentic — hadn't thought about it at _all_?!"

King's shoulders sagged; she pressed her lips together in a thin line before running a hand through her hair and letting out a heavy sigh.

"Did I hit a nerve?" Mary inquired. "Because, like, I'm not trying to upset you or anything, but it's a totally valid question."  
"No," King answered. "It's just… the last time this came up was…"  
"With Jessica?"  
" _SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_!"

King held up an index finger and let out a tiny sniffle because, just like that, she started thinking of her ex in _addition_ to everything else that was piling up on her. Jessica was so smart, and pretty, and amazing… but, also, a cheating _bitch_. Ripping King's still-beating heart straight from her chest and yelling "KALI MA!" before lowering her into a pit of molten lava would have been _much_ more considerate than destroying their two-year relationship just a few months prior by cheating with more than one person (at the same time!) and then trying to justify it by placing all of the blame elsewhere — namely on King, and her job in the Syndicate. King knew that Jessica's cheating was not her fault by _any_ stretch of the imagination, but the fact of the matter was that, despite how much she had loved that woman, what they had was a fucking sham.

"Oh! Shit! I'm sorry," Mary exclaimed with a grimace. "I totally forgot that you don't like it when —"  
"It's… please don't do that again."  
"Okay…"

The two fell silent while King reached out to refill her margarita. She let out a startled gasp when Mary snatched the pitcher out of her reach and gave her a pointed look.

"Uh-uh! You're done, ma'am."  
"But —!"  
"Nope! Think about how bad it would look if you went home _completely_ plastered."  
"That place isn't my home," King grumbled. "Never was. My _apartment_ was home. It was small and shitty, but it was _mine_. But, noooooooo! The Universe wouldn't even let me have _that_! Hell, I couldn't even keep the _furniture_!"  
"Think of it this way," Mary started. "You made some quick cash, and you're not homeless. Besides, once you land back on your feet you'll be able to get yourself a bigger apartment in a better neighborhood."  
" _If_ I ever land on my feet."  
"Don't be like that. Have some faith in yourself!"  
"It's not _myself_ that I don't have faith in…"  
"You sure…?"

There was another pause as King thought about the query — or tried to, anyway, as she was overcome by her emotions. Much to her chagrin the tears started flowing again.

"Putain," she growled while dabbing at her eyes with her sleeves, further smudging the light bit of eyeliner she was wearing.  
"It's okay to cry in front of me," Mary asserted while using her straw to stir her milkshake. "I'd be a pretty trash friend if you couldn't."

At that, King raised her eyebrows. She had been something of a loner for a long time, and carrying out her ruse had been so isolating, even while she was still in the relationship with… _her_. The concept of friendship seemed almost foreign — like something she couldn't grasp at all.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Mary inquired, her lightly freckled face a little apprehensive.  
"Oh," King sighed. "It's just… I don't… exactly have… friends."  
"So what am _I_ , then?"  
"I… a very friendly acquaintance?"

Mary stopped blending her drink so she could focus all of her attention on King. She stared at her for just a moment before squinting her pale eyes… and then breaking out into a wide grin.

"Are we too early in our relationship for a 'bitch, please'?"

The unexpected question made King snicker despite the fact she was still crying, which resulted in a very strange noise that, in turn, made Mary laugh.

"Awww," the cop gushed. "You're smiling!"  
"For all you know it could be a facial twitch," King replied.  
"Pffft. Whatever. We both know that ayy — I'm funny, and bee — you've had a lot to drink so you're probably starting to feel it. Like… a lot."

King made a face.

"I wouldn't say I'm feeling it a _lot_ ," she began, though her voice was starting to take on an odd, somewhat breathy cadence that typically happened only when she was under the influence.  
"Oh, really?" Mary prodded while pulling her hair down from its tiny ponytail. She shook her chin-length locks out as she scanned the hangout. "What does that say?"

With a furrowed brow, King glanced at the object in question (it was the exit sign) before turning back to her companion.

"That's a test of _vision_ , not sobriety."  
"Look at that! You pass!" came Mary's response.  
"Hurray," King murmured half-heartedly.  
"You know what? Let's play a game."

The seemingly random statement gave King pause. She tilted her head as she regarded the woman across from her with extreme caution.

"Okay, Jigsaw. What _kind_ of game?"  
"Let's do Twenty Questions."  
"What? _Why_?"  
"Because we're still getting to know each other and it's fun and it might help you get your mind off things."  
"Now is _really_ not the time to ask me questions about anything."  
"What are you talking about? Now is the _perfect_ time to ask you questions about _everything_."

King frowned.

"I'll let you pick the subject," Mary offered.  
"I really don't think it's a good idea…"  
"In that case, screw the game. I'll just ask you about whatever. Like… What did you want to be when you grew up?"

With a sigh King leaned back in her seat. She crossed her arms while looking at Mary, whose expression was open and full of innocent curiosity.

"...Depends on the age…"

Mary made a vague gesture with her hand; a signal that she wanted King to elaborate.

"I wanted to be a veterinarian… and then a reporter… then a gymnast — but only because I was in gymnastics for a while — and then an actress. At one point I wanted to be all of them at once. As you can see, that turned out _exactly_ how _Little_ Cécile envisioned it."  
"Well, we both know you can act to some degree so what's stopping you from pursuing a career in Hollywood or something?"  
"I like my privacy."  
"Hm," came Mary's response, which elicited raised eyebrows from King, who briefly pressed her lips together.  
"What about _you_?" She prodded.  
"What _about_ me?"  
"What did _you_ want to be when _you_ grew up?"  
"A fairy queen," came a very serious answer.

King couldn't help giggling, as an image of the gutsy officer in a frilly, pink dress with sparkling wings and a glittery magic wand popped into her head.

"Shut up, I was five."  
"I noticed you said 'queen.'"  
"Well, yeah — because queens have way more power than princesses."  
"So... what happened?"  
"I grew up."  
"Going from a fairy queen to a cop is quite the one-eighty."  
"Yeah, well… things change."

There was a shift in Mary's demeanor that alarmed King despite her mildly inebriated state. She had seen it before, of course: little glimpses of a completely different side of the officer that neither of them talked about. Whatever happened in the past had done a number on her — King knew that much for certain. She didn't want to pry, as she was all too familiar with the art of wanting and/or _needing_ to keep secrets. However, her inquisitiveness got the better of her, and, before she could stop herself she asked, " _What_ changed, exactly?"

Mary's eyes narrowed; she promptly looked away and focused on something off to her right. She then silently stirred her milkshake before taking a very long, very deliberate sip — like she was trying to run the timer out on some imaginary clock, her body language rigid. Finally, she removed the straw from her mouth and took a deep breath.

"Let's move on," she declared curtly.

King furrowed her brow while pressing her lips together, a little uncomfortable. She really wished she knew what the hell happened to this woman. Somehow she just _knew_ that it was some kind of loss — that an important person had died — but the circumstances surrounding it were a total mystery to her. She hoped that, if this… _friendship_ … actually stuck, Mary would open up to her one day and sate her desire to know.

"How old were you when you had your first kiss?"

Mary's jovial, carefree tone snapped King out of her thoughts more so than the actual question, which she found herself almost unable to process because of the somewhat jarring change in her companion's attitude.

"Wha-what?"  
"Your first kiss, dork!" Mary laughed. "How old were you?"  
"Fuh-fifteen," King finally sputtered after a moment.  
"Fifteen is kinda young, isn't it?"  
"Well how old were _you_?"  
"Eighteen."  
"Lucky you."  
"That sounds oddly bitter," Mary commented.  
"It was just… dumb."  
"Why's that?"

King sighed, and, for some reason, she felt herself welling up _again_. She couldn't believe how stupid she had been when she was younger: a silly teenager who made bad decisions and grew up to be a silly woman… who made bad decisions.

Such as the decision to crossdress and then take a job working for one of the biggest crime lords in the city as a means to get lots of money quickly.

Or… the decision to tell Mary more about herself than she had to.

"My first boyfriend — only boyfriend, actually — was a little older than me. And... I… started sleeping with him because we were 'in _loooooove.'_ "  
"Whoo boy. How _much_ older…?"  
"It doesn't matter," King grumbled. "C'était très _idiotic_!"

Mary didn't say anything — just flashed a sympathetic (and maybe slightly worried) glance at King, who continued:

"We were together for a little over a year. He said he'd come to America to be with me, but around a month after I got here he dumped me for another girl who was closer to his age. Via text message."  
" _Ouch_."  
"Even better was that Maddy an' Gary found out about it after we broke up an' did nothing but _slut_ shame me. Because that's all they do. They find something… some _flaw_ … an' they just throw it in my _face_ , over and _over_! Jean really _is_ the only thing that keeps 'em from tossing me out like garbage. Because that's what people do. They just…!"

With that, King made a whooshing noise and flailed her arms, nearly knocking her empty glass over.

"But it's okay," she went on, her thoughts a little jumbled as the alcohol _really_ started to take hold. "I don't _need_ any of those people! I didn't _need_ Serge, and I don't _need_ Jess, and I don't _need_ Madeleine or Gary! I'll make it on my own, and, when I do I'll have the last laugh because I am _not_ garbage! I am _strong_ —" King banged her fist on the table — "and _confident_!"

She banged on the table again while Mary flashed an amused smile.

"And I will not let _any_ of these assholes bring me down anymore!"  
"That's the spirit, bb!" Mary cheered. "Don't let _anyone_ bring you down!"  
"I won't! I'll find a way to get out of this, and when I do I'll get the money for that surgery, and then maybe Jean will… forgive… me…"

King trailed off as she thought back to how cold her brother had been toward her over the last few weeks. While it was true that he was trying to help her adjust to her new situation, their relationship was definitely strained by the revelation that she had turned to crime as a means to help him. Even at the hospital that morning, once his pain calmed down, he was still a bit standoffish with her. As much as she wanted to chalk it up to him being irritable as a result of his flare up, she knew that there was more to it than that. And it made her feel _horrible_. She took a deep breath as fresh tears started falling.

"Oh, no," Mary began as King pressed her lips together and tried to hold it all in. "Hey, it's okay. He'll forgive you soon enough."  
"No, he won't —" King shook her head and covered her face — "because I'm not a good person and he knows that now…!"  
"If you weren't a good person we wouldn't be here."  
"But…!"  
"I don't buy drinks for bad people," Mary asserted. "You're not a bad person — but you _are_ kinda a hot mess right now."

There was a lull in the conversation that saw King struggling not to cry while Mary watched her carefully.

"Did you ever get to sleep after you got back from the hospital?" The cop asked abruptly.

With a quirked brow, King uncovered her face. She remembered wanting to collapse on the bed because she was bone tired, but, just before she could, Maddy threw the door open and started a fight that went on for… how long did it go on? And then Gary joined the fray before work, and then Jean still needed help throughout the day, and she _did_ snooze on the sofa for a few minutes — or, at least, she thought she did…?

"I don't… I don't know," she said while wiping her face, all at once uncertain of where the day had even gone.  
"That must be it."  
"What must be what?"  
"You, ma belle nouvelle amie, just need to go to sleep! Come on."

Mary quickly rose from her seat, pulled cash out of her wallet, and placed it under the margarita pitcher.

"Oh, are we leaving?"

King took Mary's lead and stood up; the second she was on her feet the room tilted a little to the right, causing her to quickly place a hand on the table to keep from stumbling. The margaritas really _were_ stronger than she thought...

"Come on, drunky —" Mary quickly slung King's arm around her shoulder and placed a hand just under her solar plexus so she could steady her — "let's get you back to your aunt's house."  
"Are you sure?" King inquired. "I can get an Uber or something…"  
"You really think I'm gonna let a drunk chick get in a car with a stranger?" Mary inquired as the pair walked out of the building.  
"I know Muay Thai."  
"And how will that help you if you're sitting in close quarters and totally blitzed?"  
"I don't know. Life finds a way, Cool Girl."  
"You're probably right," Mary intoned, her voice a little far off as her habitual melancholy made itself known again — which caused King to frown. She looked down at her companion as best she could, thoughtful. It probably wasn't the most ideal time to try to broach the subject of the very obvious depressive tendencies the officer showed, but she had to try. With that in mind, she opened her mouth to speak, but was instantly cut off when Mary said, "Hey, you know what we should do?"

"...What?"  
"We should get drunk together under different circumstances. I bet you'd be fun if you weren't so sad and tired."  
"I think that goes for you, too."  
"Yeah, probably," Mary admitted. "Anyway, so, yeah, we should totally get drunk together one of these days, and then we can do something stupid — like get tattoos. Do you have any?"  
"No," King replied. "...You?"  
"I have a star on my ankle. It's cute. I'll show it to you when we start going steady."

At that, King's jaw slackened and she stopped walking.

"'m sorry, _what_?"  
"I don't mean it like _that_ , you nerd," Mary laughed. "I mean, you're not even my type."  
"But I'm everyone's type."  
"Okay, arrogant."  
"It's not arrogance if it's the truth," King pointed out. "I may be a mess at the moment, but at least 'm pretty."  
"I suppose you have a point."  
"That 'm pretty?"  
"Eh, you're okay, I guess," Mary responded with a shrug.  
"...Fuck you," King said, though she was smiling.

Both women chuckled while they continued to walk, with Mary carefully escorting King, who leaned on her heavily.

"Hope 'm not too heavy," she slurred drowsily.  
"Pfft, are you kidding? You're, what… a hundred and…"  
"One twenty- fi — HEY!?"

King let out a startled sound as Mary lifted her up with absolutely no effort and kept walking, unaffected by the extra weight in her arms.

"Easy-peasy," she grinned.  
"Easy-peasy," King echoed weakly, a little uncomfortable because of the attention the two were attracting, but, also, very impressed by just how much strength Mary possessed. She knew the other woman was strong (that much was obvious from how ridiculously toned her arms and shoulders were) but King had at least three inches and a decent amount of weight over her. And, yet, she was being carried through the streets like paper. It made her wonder what Mary could do in a fight.

"We should spar together," she said after a moment. "I bet _that_ would be fun."  
"Your kickboxing versus my Sambo… it'd be interesting," Mary responded, her tone thoughtful.

The two fell silent as Mary continued down the street with King in her arms. When they arrived at the parked squad car she set her down so she could unlock everything. The second the door was open King hopped into the vehicle, suddenly _very_ excited by the prospect of going to bed, but, also, a little saddened that her excursion with her new… friend… was going to be over soon.

"Ready to go 'home?'" Mary asked while starting the car.

King took a very deep breath, buckled herself in, and shut her eyes.

"Yeah. I just need to psyche myself up."  
"Well, you have about a half hour depending on traffic. Why don't you nap? I'll wake you up when we get there," Mary offered while turning on the radio and backing out of the parking space.  
"No, that's okay…"  
"You sure?"  
"Yeah. Besides, if I sleep on the way I won't be able to grill you about stuff… or… things."  
"Oh? What kind of stuff or things?"  
"I don't know," King replied, sensing an opportunity to maybe gain some more insight into Mary's random proclivity toward sadness. "I've talked about my feelings all night. What about _your_ feelings?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"You seemed a little… down back there… and I _know_ it's because you've seen some shit. So what did you see?"  
"I didn't… _see_ anything."  
"But there's something."  
"It's nothing," Mary said, her cadence all at once very defensive. King drew back a little bit, shocked by the abrupt tone, but, also a little perturbed. She fixed her eyes on the road outside before turning to her left so she could see Mary.

"You know," she began, "I told you some pretty personal stuff back there."  
"I know…"  
"So, if we're supposed to be _friends_ , then…"  
"We _are_ friends."  
"But you're still putting up the Cool Girl wall even though we —"

Mary cut King off with a very loud gasp that startled her. For a second she thought there might have been a near-miss on the road: she quickly pivoted to look out the windshield, but saw nothing but a sparsely populated freeway. It was then that she realized that the volume on the radio had gone up. Way up.

All at once, Haddway's _What Is Love (Baby Don't Hurt Me)_ was blaring from the speakers. She stared at Mary, somewhat confused, as the other woman started enthusiastically bobbing her head along to the beat of the song.

"SING WITH ME, CÉC!" She yelled over the music.

King furrowed her brow; it was painfully clear that Mary was deflecting. However, the alcohol and sleep deprivation made her more open to dropping the subject — again. With a wide smile, she found herself singing (off-key) and bobbing her own head to the music, perfectly in sync with her companion.

"WHAT IS LOVE?! BABY DON'T HURT ME, DON'T HURT ME, NO MORE~!"

As the two went on King couldn't help it as her addled mind started wandering a little. For the first time in… she didn't even know how long… she felt herself relaxing: somehow, Mary was slowly but surely breaking down the walls she had carefully put up. On the flip side, she appeared to have her work cut out for her, as the officer was a master at clamming up or changing the subject when it came to discussing _her_ inner workings. However, King decided that, for the time being, she wouldn't think about it; instead, she'd allow herself to have a few minutes of peace before going back to whatever vitriol was waiting for her at her aunt and uncle's house. She'd figure Mary out sooner or later, but, until then, she would sit back and (drunkenly) join her in her musical endeavor.

"THIS IS OUR LIFE! OUR TIIIIIIIIIIME~" the two happily warbled in unison as they sped toward suburbia.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> And done!
> 
> So, a few little things here:
> 
> * Richie is, of course, Richard Meyer, whom we should all know from the Fatal Fury series.  
> * King's internal thoughts about Jessica ripping her heart out and lowering her into lava is a nod to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. The conversation that's referenced came up in Uncomfortable Liar, when King and Jess fight about the possibility of Big's crew discovering King's ruse.  
> * Putain = Fuck  
> * King's voice taking in a different cadence when she's drunk: I've mentioned this before, but go watch Thor: Ragnarok, or at least the scenes with Valkyrie when she speaks at length drunk versus sober. Same deal.  
> * King calling Mary Jigsaw when she suggests playing a game is, of course, a reference to Saw. (Looks like King's been catching up on some American movies since moving in with her aunt and uncle...)  
> * King's move set is, of course, extremely acrobatic, with lots of flips, etc. Kids don't just walk out of the womb knowing that shit, so... gymnastics classes.  
> * C'était très idiotic! = It was idiotic!  
> * ma belle nouvelle amie = My beautiful new friend  
> * I didn't really intend this, but Mary's line about King's Muay Thai not being much good in close quarters is sort of a chilling foreshadowing for what happened years later, in MLS. King is unable to adequately defend herself because she's in a car... in close quarters  
> * The Cool Girl wall is referred to in depth in Silver Lining  
> * If you've never seen Night at the Roxbury... that's the inspiration for the final scene in the car. Thanks, Tai!
> 
> So there you go. I hope you've enjoyed this read, and this look at King and Mary's early days! If you've made if this far, I totally appreciate you, and would love to hear from you. What are your thoughts and feels?
> 
> Thank you for reading! Cheers~!


End file.
